


Portent

by Cumvore, Slither-the-least (baeberiibungh)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Belts, Blood, CBT, Coming Untouched, Complete, Crying, Dom/sub Undertones, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Guilt, Hair-pulling, Hardcore, M/M, Masochism, Mutual Pining, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rogh Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Sadism, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Violence, Tears, Unsafe Sex, breath play, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8256313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cumvore/pseuds/Cumvore, https://archiveofourown.org/users/baeberiibungh/pseuds/Slither-the-least
Summary: It feels like love. Even when it does not look it.





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles’ head rocks back with the force of the slap. Blood and saliva flood his mouth, electricity on his tongue as his lips widen in a grotesque looking smile. Derek slaps him once more and blood burbles out of the corner of Stiles’ lips. Derek shoves him then so that Stiles stumble back a step to hit the wall with a hard thunk. Derek leans in and laps at the blood welling from Stiles’ broken mouth. Stiles keeps his eyes and mouth open as Derek seeks the swell of blood inside his mouth when he cut his cheek. Derek pulls back only to bite at Stiles’ viciously, tearing it open in red shinning pearls of blood that Derek laps up hungrily. 

One of his hands is on Stiles’ hair, pulling taut, hard enough to bruise the roots and pull off a few hairs at the same time. His other hand is digging at his cock, pulling at his balls through the jeans. Stiles hands are plastered to the walls, palm wall faced and spread out, nails digging at the wall paper in anticipation. Derek pulls him in closer with his hair and devours him, making it difficult for Stiles to breath. Derek is no longer kissing really, but sucking and mashing his mouth into Stiles’ face and clacking their teeth together. Stiles’ lips, bleeding steadily, are still upturned at the edges.

Derek pushes him back again, cracking Stiles’ head on the wall so that his eyes looks a little dazed right after. The lower part of his face is red as is Derek’s. Derek looks at Stiles for a minute, both of their heart rate up and the air stinking of fierce desire. Derek then pulls Stiles to him and licks across his face, wet and sloppy before shoving him to his knees. Stiles fall over the side at the force of the shove but rights himself immediately. He is kneeling on a thick rug. Stiles knee walks nearer to Derek’s groin and fumbles with his belt. Derek pushes him to wait before taking off his belt and other clothes till he is standing nude.

The clothes he let fall on the rug, but the belt he rolls double into his hand and directs Stiles back to his groin with it. Stiles does not wait one moment but mouths at Derek’s half hard cock with a hunger. His lips stings from where Derek tore it, and the precum he licks off Derek mixes with his blood as he blows Derek. Derek’s hand is back in hair, tugging insistently, just pulling but not directing. When Derek gives a sharp pull, Stiles gets off his cock with a wet pop that makes Derek drip a line of precum right onto Stiles jeans as he is shoved between Derek’s widely set feet. 

“Off,” Derek growls at Stiles and that is all he needs, all he was waiting for. Stiles pulls off his hoodie and tee and gets off his knee to get his jeans off as quickly as he can before he is back on his knees again, mouth sucking on Derek’s cock and hands wrapped around Derek’s thigh much lightly that Derek is pulling at his hair. Derek again growls, “Wide,” and Stiles spreads out his legs as much as possible while still sucking Derek. Stiles is hard too but his hands are only on Derek and not on his cock no matter how hard he wants to touch himself. Derek traces the edge of his folded belt on the contours of Stiles face before unfolding it.

It’s a leather belt, old and soft with an almost buttery texture. Stiles puts his ass out, thrusting his chest out as he clutches at Derek’s thighs more tightly. Derek starts to swing the belt in lazy arcs, letting the whoosh of the air catch Stiles’ in his back to let him know how near Derek is swinging it. Stiles is ramrod straight and licking and sucking Derek as if this is the first time, as if this is the thousandth time and all times in between, where Stiles exists as no more that someone intent on bringing Derek only pleasure. The swings get sharper, cutting the air in an infinity symbol as Derek makes Stiles ready.

Then, without a warning, Derek lays a line of fire over Stiles’ back, aiming the belt so that the tip fall on the base of his cock over his balls. Pain explodes in a sudden jolt through his whole body and Stiles screams, loud and garbled as Derek pounds into his mouth, making him gag and tear up, blood leaving a bright line on Derek’s cock as Stiles lips tear again. Derek does not let go but places five more lashes to Stiles, placing the last one bending over to place it squarely over his asshole and his cock and balls in tandem. Stiles gives a gut wrenching wail at that, coming in spurts onto the space between Derek’s wide spread legs.

The smell of the orgasm and Stiles immediate contentment makes Derek throw away the belt to put both his hands on Stiles’ head and face fuck his orgasm out. Stiles’ face is red, tears streaming freely on his face and his legs shaking so much that Derek is practically holding Stiles up with his hair and head. A few thrusts in, Derek comes and shoves his whole length down Stiles’ throat, blocking any air he might need. When Derek Finally pulls out, Stiles looks near to passing. He gulps in lungful of breaths and coughs. His eyes are still teary. Derek just looks. When Stiles gets his breath back, he sits on his haunches an looks up to Derek.

Derek is immobile. A stone statue. Stiles can’t even tell if he is breathing or not. He just stares unblinkingly at Stiles on his knees before him, his face still carrying traces of Stiles’ blood. Stiles lowers his head to wipe his face of the tears and the stray bit of cum. With the contact broken, Derek steps back, says, “You should head home now,” and walks up the stairs to his bedroom. The tears come again. Foolish as always and doubly useless. Stiles puts on his clothes, wiping his face every now and then, closes the door when he leaves and sits in his jeep for an hour before driving home.

The next time Derek fucks Stiles raw without any prep, making him bleed. Stiles only kisses him deeper with blood on his tongue.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically an angsty add-on for the people who commented

When is a monster not a monster? When you love it.

But does loving a monster make you a monster too?

The Sheriff is out when Stiles reaches home. His legs and head aches. His mouth feels swollen and torn. His heart feels like some jagged shards of delicate pottery that jangle with each of his step. So he does the most sensible thing possible – cleans up his injuries and bandages up what is necessary and falls into a bed to sleep fitfully rolled into a lumpy ball under the covers. When the Sheriff will return and peek in his son’s room, all will seem well, with Stiles asleep at night rather than being up to the wee hours to research weird things. He closes the door slowly with a slight click and misses the fact that Stiles is actually very much awake, the moon light shinning in his eyes from the open window. 

Stiles is no fool. He is not goddamn stupid. He knows what this is. Has read enough of these in his father’s work files, remembers his deep sense of puzzlement as to why they just didn’t leave, why they didn’t turn in their abusive partners. The solution had seemed so simple then. So do able. And yet here is the proverbial poster child of domestic abuse and all he does is hide it from his father and keep returning for more. What is wrong with him? What went wrong where that the way Derek treats him has become commonplace. That it is something that even Stiles revels in now. Stiles rubs his chest because it really hurts, from heartbreak, from realizing, again, that things will never change. Never. 

Stiles once read that Stockholm Syndrome basically makes the victim fall in love with the perpetrator. It is a survival technique, bringing earnestness to body language and non-verbal communication that the ‘love’ the victim feels actually becomes visible in their growing faith in their captors, sometimes even turning into consensual sex, under coercive circumstances. There was harking back to primitive times, offering possible off springs as future payoff. Stiles never put much stock to it. He had not been in love then of course. Now he was. And it was easy to see how it might work. Once in love, betrayed by your heart and body like that, it is difficult to learn to unlove them after.

What Stiles feels for Derek, love sometimes seems an apt word and sometimes an underwhelmed word merely trying and failing to describe what he feels. Stiles had always loved fiercely and loyally. The absence of his mother still stings, a decade later, with then freshness of an open wound gushing blood. His father he loves more than his life, more than sanity. Scott he loves with a fierce protectiveness that would behoove him to cut down mountains just so Scott can walk easy. Lydia and even Melissa are not immune to this net of protective ferality. And then comes Derek, Derek with his beautiful face and haunted soul and Stiles loves, loves with a thirst and hunger that refuses to be filled with anything else than Derek.

Stiles makes feeble promises to himself that he will not return the next time. That he will forego whatever it is that Derek manages to give him between the hurt and the blood and the memories. That he will be _strong_. But then a threat comes and the whole pack congregates and Stiles lays his eyes on Derek and his heart wants. His heart aches and cries and just wants. After the threat has been dismantled, sent away or simply gotten rid of, the pack will linger at the loft before drifting away in pairs and triplets. Peter will hover around, being all snide, spite full and mocking concern before he too will melt into the space outside the loft, leaving Stiles with Derek all alone, to do what he wants.

Derek will be stiff and creaky as he will near Stiles, his movements jerky as if he too is fighting some bright kernel of truth that is telling him not to go to Stiles. That Stiles is really not what he should want or need or take. And panic always blooms in Stiles then. That Derek will choose this time to be brave. To be the strong one and he will leave, leave Stiles without a backward glance, rightfully and apt. So Stiles always took the first step, circle Derek’s wrist in his hand, pulling him closer, his desperation for this not to be the last time, for him to get another chance clear in his eyes as he would shove his body to match the arch of Derek’s. So that he can lean in and kiss Derek with all the love he has to give and let out a relieved sigh as Derek’s hands encircle him.

 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

 

Peter is always an asshole. But he somehow always manages to be a correct asshole. Derek loves Stiles but in no world, under no circumstance does Derek deserves Stiles in any form – not even as a friend, prone to keep them out of harm’s way as he does. So every time Stiles comes, against his better judgement, in spite of the danger, Derek doles out the worst of him out on Stiles, what he wishes he could have done to Kate and all the rest of the Argents, with the hope that it will keep Stiles away. He can see the desperation in Stiles’ eyes but Derek is old enough to understand how vulnerable Stiles feels being alone and young enough to remember how Kate had used the same against him. 

So he heaps bruises with as much acuity as he does his ardent wishes that Stiles would just pick the better choice, the choice being anyone else than him on Stiles’ skin. He pushes and prods and waits for Stiles to punch him and leave, finally done with the monstrosity that is Derek. But that moment never comes. What comes is Stiles, smelling of arousal and want and need wrapped around the brilliant being that Derek chooses to defile so easily. What comes are dreams of another lifetime, another lifeline where their Derek’s love is not a taint and Stiles loves him back. What comes is the taste of Stiles blood mixing with his as he bites off his lips in anger at self. What comes is the conviction if he lets even this much go, he will never get Stiles again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be no more installments to this fic. I don't know how to drive them into happier times after all that's happened.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment Please


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